


vents

by vesperthine



Series: future [2]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Introspection, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-07 21:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15228222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/pseuds/vesperthine
Summary: Blood rushes in his ears, his fingertips tingle. Her anger is familiar, but it comes a beat too late. Makes a part of him want to do as she says. Makes him want to listen to her, take her seriously and respect her wishes. At the same time, something flickers in the back of his mind( – alarm bells start going off, one after the other, her laboured breathing the time the light Navi something is off off off – ).





	1. vents

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [ventiler](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357118) by [vesperthine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/pseuds/vesperthine). 



> this is a fic i've wanted to write for quite a while, but i didn't dare to. but then, i did, and i hope i've done this in a respectful and nuanced manner. 
> 
> for clarification: this takes place between chapter 1 and 2 in _[will it wash out in the water (or is it always in the blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461389?view_full_work=true)_  
>  this is also a translation, and i want to send all my love to [mynameisnotthepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotthepoint/pseuds/mynameisnotthepoint) who's been an angel and helped me lay the groundwork, the real work and the polish on this translation. thank you is not enough; i would not have been able to see this through without you ♡
> 
> all comments, short or long, will be treasured. thank you so much for reading ♡  
>    
> (more specific triggers in end notes.)

“Even?”

Even lifts his head, lets his lips slip away from the part of Isak’s chest he has been kissing carefully. Isak’s skin is warm against his lips, and it’s almost as if Isak is vibrating under him.

“What?”

Fingers comb through his hair, but a small wrinkle has appeared between Isak's eyebrows. 

“Are we really doing this  _ now _ ?

“You don’t want to?”

Even strokes his leg, and Isak rolls his eyes when his hand continues upwards; when he lets his fingers sneak in under the hem of Isak's boxers, touching the soft skin of his groin before moving back down towards the knee. 

Back to one of Isak’s most sensitive spots. 

“If Alma’s not asleep by now, something’s up.”

“I know, but – ”

Isak sighs, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. Even searches his face for a bit, then rolls off of him. The mattress takes on the shape of his back, and he stretches out his arm next to his head. 

Isak mirrors him, then draws up one of his knees to create a pyramid under the duvet. When he looks up, there are many horizontal lines on his forehead, his dark eyebrows drawn together, all doglike. “It has nothing to do with you.”

Even chuckles. “I know. And the more I think about it, the more guilty I feel. I mean, what if she heard us?”

“Good that we’re on the same page.” Isak presses a quick kiss under his chin. “Would you get up and let Navi in?”

Even lets out a deep, theatrical sigh. 

Isak just grins as he turns to lie on his stomach, hugging the pillow. “Thanks.”

“Hey. You can do better.”

“I love you. You are the most wonderful, incredible, fantastic – ”

“Fine, fine. Don’t exert yourself, or you’ll explode.” Even says, a smile threatening to spread over his face. Reluctantly, he crawls out from under the warm duvet and grabs a pair of sweatpants because the floor is so damn cold. They’re in that indistinct transition period between winter and spring, where it’s neither cold nor warm long enough for the heater to acclimate to the changes. 

Usually, Navi lies, curled up and waiting, in front of their bedroom door when she’s been kicked out, ready to run inside and plonk herself down between their feet at the foot of their bed. 

Now, she’s nowhere to be found.

Even leans back into the bedroom, grabbing a wool sweater off the hook behind the door. Cold weather tends to make his shoulder ache, and Navi might’ve wandered off into the kitchen or even the basement. She is intelligent enough to occasionally turn from calm and collected into quite the drama queen. Something as insignificant as how the light falls in the kitchen can fascinate her to the point where she turns into a nervous wreck. 

When he steps out of the bedroom, the floorboards next to the door creak. The house is not the biggest  _ ( – a small townhouse they managed to move to after one of Isak’s colleagues and her husband decided to move to an apartment in the city – ) _ but it’s enough. Outside, the motion detector on the little patio turns on as he steps into the living room which is, unfortunately, dogless.

The door to the old office is slightly ajar, but Even refrains from looking inside. It’s best to just let her be. Talk it out tomorrow. Earlier in the evening, she’d taken out a lot of her corrosive, pent-up frustration on Isak. Had spat out some nasty words, saying that Isak, who had such a good job, shouldn’t give a fuck about how she was doing at school, because he obviously just thought she was a lost cause anyways.

It was, however, far from the first time she’d gone for Isak with a vengeance, and it always hurts to witness it _(_ _– like it is somehow his fault – )._

Walking down the stairs, he heads towards the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, since he’s already up. And that’s when he spots Navi. She’s slowly pacing in front of the door to the little bathroom which has a bathtub but no shower, her tail nervously wagging to and fro, paws blocking part of the light escaping from under the door.

Even leans down, petting the big dog along her side. “There you are. What’s wrong, girl?”

Navi whines and shakes him off, only to continue her nervous pacing. Something in the way she moves, combined with the eerie silence from inside the bathroom causes a cold feeling to settle in his stomach  _ ( – anchored inside him like a stone in his midriff – )  _

“Alma?”

No answer. His heart starts to beat faster, the rate becoming painful. Without thinking, he grabs the door handle. It’s locked. 

Drawing a careful breath, he knocks on the door. “Alma? Everything alright in there?”

“Fucking hell, Even. What do you want?” she spits, voice thick and almost panicked.

His stomach drops. “Nothing, I just – ”

“Fuck off, then!”

“Alma – ”

“For fuck’s sake, stop saying my name! Just go away and leave me the fuck alone!”

Blood rushes in his ears, his fingertips tingle. Her anger is familiar, but it comes a beat too late. Makes a part of him want to do as she says. Makes him want to listen to her, take her seriously and respect her wishes. At the same time, something flickers in the back of his mind  _ ( – alarm bells start going off, one after the other, her laboured breathing the time the light Navi something is off off off – ) _ .

Her mind doesn’t work like his, or Isak’s. If anything, she reminds him of Sana, all rough edges and high walls. “If you unlock the door, I promise I’ll go back to bed. I just need to make sure you don’t faint in there, okay?” 

Silence settles again. Navi’s claws click against the hardwood floor. The radiator in the hallway snaps. Alma’s breathing is audible through the door.

Then, the lock turns and the handle is pushed down. The door creaks open; the harsh 60-watt light floods the hallway like a spotlight _(_ _– his pupils constrict so fast that it hurts, then, the scene before him clears – )_ and everything stops.

Alma sits on the toilet seat, wearing nothing but underwear and a baggy t-shirt; her messy dark hair pulled back with a pink hair tie, holding her hand at the top of her thigh, almost touching her hip bone.

And between her fingers, dark red blood wells up. It runs in little rivulets down her legs, which are littered with deep, finger-long gashes  _ ( – it is full of white and pinkish-red marks, there are scars on her thighs, all over, ridged and awful this is not the first time this is not the first time this is not the first time how long has this been going on for – ) _

In her other hand, there is a yellow-handled box cutter. 

“It’s  _ –”  _ She stutters and swallows. “It’s  _ –  _  I think I’ve cut too deep. It’s not stopping. I  _ –  _ I can’t make it stop,” she says, never looking up at him.

A rivulet reaches her knobby knee, and one drop falls onto the tiles with a quiet  _ plop _ . 

The sound is deafening, but it manages to break the spell; the floodgates open and the adrenaline courses through him. Without thinking, Even steps into the bathroom, pulling a few small towels from the cupboard next to the washing machine.

“Do you need to go to the emergency room?” 

It’s a miracle that his voice doesn’t break, as brittle as it is.

She vehemently shakes her head _( –_ _her brown eyes big bloodshot terrified – )_ “No, no, it’s fine, I’m sorry – ”

Navi whines in the hallway, and Even closes the door to make sure she doesn’t disturb them. Sinking down to his knees _ ( – down on the blood spattered tiles his pants are definitely going to have stains on them – ) _ in front of Alma, he presses the towel on top of her hand.

Her whole body is shaking, and its vibrations travel up through his palm. It’s contagious. 

“Let go, honey.”

“No.” She shakes her head again, still not looking him in the eye. “I can’t.”

“Relax, let go now. I’ll keep pressing down, I’ve got you.”

Something passes through her. She swallows, and then takes away her blood-stained hand. His vision disappears for a moment, but he gathers himself and presses his whole hand onto the towel  _ ( – his hand is so large, hers so fragile – ) _ .

Nothing is leaking through the white fabric. That is reassuring, at least.

With his other hand, he gently pries the box cutter from her grasp. The yellow handle is a little deformed; it’s bumpy, as if the plastic has been half-melted several times  _ ( – as if she boiled it, sterilized it – ) _ . It makes it hard to retract the blade, but it still works.

Alma has closed her eyes, and is leaning her head against the tiled wall behind her. Behind her eyelids, her eyes move back and forth, as if she’s unable to keep any part of her body still. 

Even’s jaw begins to spasm; the muscles threaten to make his teeth chatter. “Would you let me call for Isak?”

Alma’s face crumbles. Her lips quiver, tears welling up but never quite slipping out. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to see me like this,” she whispers, and sniffles. “He hates me.”

It makes his head spin  _ ( – how did they fuck up so badly – )  _ but he manages to breathe through it. “Isak doesn’t hate you.”

“No, he does.”

It’s not something he can convince her of, and it hurts  _ ( – claws at his heart and lungs in a way he hasn’t felt in forever – ).  _

“Why would you think that Isak hates you?”

“I’m not completely fucked in the head, you know.”

Even winces.

“He just wants to help you. Me too. And, it’s a bit harsh to say, but he’ll just know better what to do. He’s not a doctor, but he knows more about the human body. I just work in film, you know.”

It slips out before he knows it, but it does coax a quick smile out of her. Not a big one, and part of him really doesn’t want to downplay the situation. At the same time, it’s almost unbearable to see her this way  _ ( – a distorted reflection of himself, a road he could have taken – ). _

“Isak – he can judge if you have to go to the emergency room, or if we can patch you up here, okay?”

She nods. Her fingers twitch  _ ( – flight instinct about to take over he knows this all too well he can’t be alone with her for much longer – ) _ so he has to be sure that this is what she wants.

“It’s okay if I ask him to come down here?”

She nods again. 

Even opens the bathroom door with his left hand and sticks his head out. “Isak!”, he shouts, and tries to keep his voice steady, as well as in the right pitch  _ ( – words make it real, not just a figment of his imagination – ) _ . Tv-static is still running through his veins, even though it’s gone from nearly boiling over to a slight simmering. 

“What is it? Come back to bed, Navi’s back now.”

“Get the first aid kit and come to the downstairs bathroom!”

Through the ceiling, they hear how Isak tumbles out of bed and throws on some clothes. Running footsteps pound down the staircase and as soon as he hears Isak fumble around in the cleaning cabinet, Even looks up at Alma. 

Her face is drained of all color, and her knees have started shaking again. Some of the cuts on her other thigh have stopped bleeding, so Even puts his hand just beneath them. “It’s okay. We’re just going to patch you up. Nothing else.”

He locks the door the moment he hears Isak outside. The handle rattles once, before Isak’s voice drifts over from the other side. 

“Why’d you lock it? Even  _ –  _ !”

Isak’s voice is all panic, and even through the door, his laboured breathing is audible. 

Even swallows. “Where is Navi?”

“Why  _ –  _ in the bedroom, I just told you. She seemed restless.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Even.” Isak’s voice is treacherously calm now. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not me,” Even says, and in the corner of his eye, Alma closes her own. Her mouth is trembling, despite the fact that she’s pressing her lips together. Under his palm, her leg’s sticky with cold sweat and blood that has started leaking through the towel  _ ( – the overpowering stench of fear permeates the air he doesn’t know if he can stay calm much longer – ) _ . “But Isak, you have to stay calm.”

On the other side of the door, Isak takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let me in, please? 

Alma is crying now; silent tears are running down her cheeks and Even would like to do nothing more than hold her  _ ( – there’s so much of himself in her that it’s painful to be here – ) _

“Can I let him in?” he asks softly. 

She is silent again  _ ( – just shakes and shakes and shakes – ). _ Then she nods. 

Even lets go of her knee and unlocks the door.

Isak opens it at once. And stops in his tracks. “Oh. Alma  _ – _ ”

Alma sucks in a sharp breath through her nose. She brings her hands up to hide her face behind them and tries, in vain, to stifle the pained noise ripping itself from her throat.

Even manages to tear his eyes away from her; Isak’s face is as ashen as hers. 

And Even is positive that there’s no blood left in his own either. 

“Look. It’s bled through.” Isak sounds hollow, and entirely detached  _ ( – has slipped into problem solving mode and donned his pragmatist attitude, which protect him like armor – ) _ when he, too, drops to his knees, first aid kit in hand. “We have to get her down on the floor. Keep the wound elevated.” 

Even swallows, and sits up straighter, the tiles digging into his knees. “Okay.”

Alma’s crying isn’t as hysteric anymore, and now she’s just sitting there, motionless. All silent, shoulders drawn up to her ears. He strokes her hair, then shakes her shoulder with a light hand. “Alma, would you get down and sit on the floor with me?”

She shakes her head. 

“Just lift her,” Isak orders, and he seems so cold as he rummages through the bag for the compresses and the surgical tape. “It might stop on its own if we get her down on the floor.”

Even carefully gets up, keeping his hand steady on the towel. He squeezes Alma’s shoulder before he puts the other hand under her arm. “Up. Come on, girl. Work with me here.”

Hands still covering her face, she does go along with the upward motion  _ ( – like a ragdoll – )  _ and then downward, down onto the tiled floor, the whole time keeping her leg up. The previous owners installed underfloor heating right before they moved in, and Even has never been more grateful for it as he leans against the bathtub; Alma lies limp across his lap, hands still in place. 

Her right hand is sticky with  _ ( – her own – )  _ blood.

Over the top of her head, Even looks up at Isak, who has finally found the right supplies. The fluorescent light is unforgiving, and turns the bloodstains on the tiles all black and grotesque.

“Alma.” Isak scoots closer and puts a hand on her ankle. A shiver runs through her, and Even wonders if Isak’s hand is warm or cold. “I’ll take the towel away now, just so you know.”

She only draws a sharp breath in response. It makes her whole chest tremble. Isak gives Even a dejected look  _ ( – bottomless empty hollow – ) _ before he peels the towel off. The inside of it is dark red, but the cuts aren’t bleeding anymore; a thin layer of coagulum has formed in the deepest one. 

Even clears his throat and runs his hands down her bare arms. “Did something happen?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

Alma is silent, except for the small, involuntary whimpers when Isak cleans the edges of the wound. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, muffled by the fingers covering her mouth, as Isak presses the sides of the wound together with tape. 

Even runs his hand over her forehead, his palm turning moist from her cold sweat. “Okay. Do you know why you’ve done it before?”

She remains silent, and Even can’t help it. He should remain neutral like Isak, but it’s all too familiar  _ ( – reminds him all too much of how he felt while in that bottomless pit of confusion angst fear self-hate so deep the light has no chance of breaking through, like being at the bottom of the Mariana trench – ) _ to be able to ignore it.

So he puts one arm around her, presses his cheek to her hair, and softly cradles her when she starts to shake again. 

“It’s just   _ – _ it’s always too much,” she whispers  _ ( – one hand clutching his forearm like a lifeline – ) _ . “It  _ – _ I can’t. Drinking is the only thing that helps. I can’t deal with it, but I have to get it out –  I can’t take it anymore!”

It rips out of her with an awful sound  _ ( – followed by tears, snot and spit – ).  _

“Does it happen a lot?” Isak continues, as if he hasn’t heard her. But something around his mouth has tightened, and Even just knows what is swirling around in his head now.

Alma takes away her hands from her face. “What? That happens to fucking everyone, doesn’t it?” 

Her voice is biting, and Even braces himself for the impact.

“No,” Isak answers matter-of-factly. “Most people don’t feel the need to hurt themselves to handle their emotions.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Why do  _ you  _ care? You just think I’m fucked in the head!”

Isak goes still, the compress loosely dangling between his fingers. Even watches as blind rage passes over Isak’s face for a split second, before his eyes water suddenly. He swallows, and continues dressing the wound; his movements even more gentle and careful.

“I don’t think you’re fucked in the head, Alma.”

She goes rigid. Her ribs rise and fall under Even’s arm.

“Yeah, right. Do you  _ really _ think I don’t know why I’m here? Because it makes you two  _ look good _ ,” she spits, and starts wriggling out of Even’s hold. “It gives you charity points or some other bullshit! Model fucking citizens!”

Out of sheer instinct, Even tightens his grip, but before he has time to to let go, she goes limp. Covers her face with her hands again, and sob after sob escapes her. “I can’t do anything right, can I,” she whispers  _ ( – deflates like all air has been let out of her – ) _ . “S-Sorry. There always something wrong with me.”

Isak’s fingers smooth down the edges of the compress, and he starts to wrap gauze around her thigh. Somehow, it doesn’t look as fragile as it did under Even’s own hand; the strength in her muscles becomes clear now that the wound and the scars disappear, bit by bit, under a protective layer of bandaging. 

“No one gets everything right on the first try,” Even says after a bit, and tilts her head back until her eyes finally meet his. Her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace  _ ( – filled with such quantities in need of an outlet just not like this never like this even though he knows what it’s like – ) _ . “But we’re not doing this for appearance’s sake, Alma. Believe me.”

She picks at the bandage like she wants to pull it off again. Isak takes her hand instead, squeezes it carefully, and she squeezes his back. She closes her eyes, and her thigh makes a comical sound as it hit the tiles. Thuds against them in a way that breaks the silence. 

It’s more out of habit that Even starts stroking her hair again. 

“You’re okay?” he asks softly, and Alma loses the last of her remaining rigidity. 

The fluorescent light bulb above the bathroom cabinet flickers. Alma nods and leans her head against his shoulder. “Are you going to call my dad now?”

Even has to take a deep breath, and catches Isak’s tired eyes. 

“I think we have to. This is one of those things we have to tell him, Alma.”

She nods, and draws a shaky breath. “He’s going to be furious,” she whispers. “I don’t think I can  _ –  _ ”

“He’s free to take his rage out on me,” Isak says, before Even has time to open his mouth. “Because, believe me, I’m pretty used to  _ that  _ by now.”

He smiles that self-deprecating smile of his, which transforms his face, makes it softer and lets the beauty shine through. Alma exhales with a snort, but swallows it down on a sniffle. “Yeah. Gotcha. Sorry, Isak.”

“It’s alright, Alma.”

Even notices that she is still holding on to Isaks fingers; they’re almost turned white by her grasp. But Isak doesn’t let go. And Even hugs her closer; this sixteen-year-old on his lap who seems so much younger right here and now.

After a long pause, she sighs. “I just wanna go back to sleep.”

Even loosens his grip, and says what has to be said in situations like this. “On one condition: you promise me that we’ll discuss this again tomorrow. Because this can’t continue, honey. You get that too, don’t you? Even though it’s hard.”

“Okay.” She sighs, but nods. “Yeah. Fine. I promise. I just want to sleep.”

“Good.” Isak uses the radiator to pull himself up and offers her his hand. “Are you able to walk on your own?”

She shakes her head, and Isak sends Even a short look. “I’ll carry you, then. Even, could you help her up?”

Even pulls her up along with him, and after she puts her arms around Isak’s shoulders, he scoops her up, bridal style  _ ( – careful not to touch her cut-up legs – ) _ . She’s a small person: fifty kilos dry, with a mane of long, dark hair. If it hadn’t been for his protesting shoulder, Even could have done it just as easily. Now, he leads the way, opening doors to make sure Isak doesn’t drop her.

While Isak puts her back into bed, Even fetches a few extra blankets from the living room. Something tells him she’ll need them now  _ ( – an extra layer against the world, a cocoon where she can gather her strength before this circus really begins – )   _

When he gets back, she’s already asleep. 

“I think she fell asleep on the way up,” Isak says as Even covers her with the blankets. Isak chews at the hangnail on his thumb as he starts closing the door to her room, before changing his mind and leaving it ajar. 

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

They head downstairs again in silence, back to the bathroom. Isak gathers the roll of gauze and the compresses discarded on the tiles, while Even takes out the Ajax from the cupboard under the sink to remove the last blood stains  _ ( – as if it’s cleaning day and time to remove the calcification between the tiles – ). _

It’s fucked up.

The light flickers again when he gets off of the floor. It needs changing, and soon if it doesn't let up. He rinses out the towel in the sink  _ ( – until the pink stream becomes clear – )  _ and hears Isak zip up the first-aid-kit. 

“Did you ever think about it?”

“If there were any signs, you mean?”

He meets Isak’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. They’re hollow  _ ( – an abyss you stand at the edge of to scream until your lungs give out – )  _ and the skin under his eyes is dry and paper thin. 

Isak shakes his head. “No, I meant you. At her age.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“I don’t know. You got to her in a way that  _ – _ ”

Isak stops; bites his cheek as if to keep certain thoughts from crystallizing. It doesn’t startle Even when Isak spins him around, strong hands on his hips and pulls him into a hug. 

He could try explaining it. Because Isak, if anything, wants to understand. It’s just that in situations like these, their differences become so starkly visible. Isak isn’t an emotionally fragile person, and his way of dealing with things like these is to polish and polish until that protective armor of his shines through. Something extra is needed for him to truly understand how physical pain, in so many ways, is easier to endure than  _ ( – this abstract corrosive inescapable pressure building up inside – )  _ psychological. By now, he knows how Even works, but even when it was tempting, there, in the beginning  _ ( – when this inability to escape became too much, but had yet to make him want to – ) _ , Even never tried to ease it by  _ – _

He wants nothing more than to sink into Isak’s arms  _ ( – lean into him at just the right angle so all of it seeps out of him, onto the tiles – )  _ but instead he runs his hands up and down Isak’s arms. 

“A few times, it seemed like an option.”

He’d considered it mostly out of curiosity, heard about it, wanted to see if it could work. If it would become that unmatched vent they said it would; transforming psychological into physical  _ ( – imaginary into real – )  _ pain that was said to, perhaps, make it all run out. 

Bloodletting, but for modern times. 

It never happened. 

“But I couldn’t do it. You know how afraid I am of hurting myself. Like, just a paper cut makes me freak out.”

Isak’s sharp inhale echoes through the bathroom; his exhale is relieved. The lighting in here really is too harsh. It’s like a spotlight, illuminating a performance no one wants to see  _ – _ like that Finnish artist who chopped his own arm off with a chainsaw, microwaved it and exhibited it as a sculpture; a performance no one actually wants to witness, well-lit or not. 

So Even closes his eyes. Shuts it out. Concentrates on Isak’s chest; how it rises and falls with the rhythm of his breathing, moves steadily against his own, how his hair smells of shampoo and sweat and tickles his cheek  _ ( – so different from red iron cleaning product plastic packaging around the razor blades at his parents’ house – ). _

“Where do we go from here? She’s got her own knife, Even.”

Isak’s voice cuts off as soon as the reality of what he’s seen catches up with him.

“We’ll see what she wants to do in the morning. But this  _ – _ “

“Should we have gone to the emergency room?

“Did we need to go?”

It makes Isak shake his head; Even feels, rather than sees, the movement against his shoulder. “No, it looked worse than it actually was  _ –  _  physically, that is. Fucking hell,” he says, voice thick. A shiver runs through him, and Isak pulls Even closer to comfort himself. 

“I think it’s dangerous to give it too much attention. The injury, that is.”

“Okay,” Isak mumbles, and follows the motion when Even takes his face into his hands. Closes his bloodshot eyes when Even runs his thumbs over his cheekbones, his temples  _ ( – touches that which is tangible, the outline of bones just beneath the skin – )  _ and further down, towards his throat. 

His middle finger brushes over a small cut on Isak’s chin, caused by shaving, and Isak gently closes his hands around Even’s wrists.

“And how are you doing?”

Everything blurs together, their outlines disappear, but a long breath  _ ( – in through the nose, out through the mouth – )  _ makes the circles clouding his vision, reminiscent of those that appear when you’ve rubbed your eyes too hard, stop turning. The tiles are white again. Sterile. It’s been a long time since he felt this off-kilter. 

Because there is a difference in knowing that the thing that rears its ugly head when he’s at his lowest hurts him, that it gnaws away at what he and Isak have if he doesn’t fight it –  and dealing with this right here.

To be on the other side of it, and see it with his own eyes; to be powerless, unable to intervene in a way that matters, only able to treat the radiation burns after the meltdown is over and done.

“Is this – is this what it’s like? This utter helplessness?” he manages to get out, voice small but deafening at the same time. 

“No. It used to be, a little bit. But not anymore.” Isak’s thumbs caress the veins  _ ( – right where the skin is still warm and smooth – ) _ on the inside of his wrists. He swallows, and nudges the tip of his nose against Even’s  _ ( –  exhale damp warm alive against his lips – ) _ . “I trust you to do whatever’s best for you, for us. You want to take care of yourself. I don’t trust her to do the same.”

“No. We really can’t.”

For a moment, none of them move. Not until the edge of the sink cutting into his lower back goes from uncomfortable to painful. The fluorescent light flickers again, and in an instant, Even’s overwhelmed by a tiredness that slowly seeps out from his bones. 

It spreads through his veins, and he stifles a yawn against Isak’s temple. 

Isak presses a light kiss to his throat. “Come on,” he says, and interlocks their fingers. Switches off the flickering light. Leads him up the stairs and pulls him down on the bed  _ ( – down under the blankets into their warmth – ) _ . They don’t even bother to take off their clothes; they just lie down next to each other. 

Navi’s gone back to sleep, all curled up at their feet, so Isak moves one leg on top of Even’s to avoid knocking into her. Little shivers run through his body, and Even tries to get their heartbeats to match up; to create a state in which Isak can relax again  _ ( – like he was before all this, calm and warm and smiling – )  _ so he can get some sleep.

Once their breaths are synchronized, he remembers something. Swallows, and asks:

“Isak?”

Isak lifts his head from the pillow. Through the dark, it’s possible to distinguish his cheek when he moves, but not the rest of his face. 

“Yeah?”

“Should we leave the door open? In case she  _ – _ ”

There’s no need to end the sentence before Isak’s already out of bed again. Silently, he reaches the door and opens until it’s slightly ajar  _ ( – just enough to let the light from the living room get in – ) _ . Then, with two steps, he’s back and lies down in the same way as before; makes it easier, somehow, to fall asleep again. 

And the door to the bedroom stays open.


	2. redistribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, the following day. Isak's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second and last chapter is finally done! thank you once again to [mynameisnotthepoint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotthepoint/pseuds/mynameisnotthepoint), without whom this translation wouldn't exist. thank you so much, darling ♡

It’s sleeting outside when Isak wakes up.

Heavy rain mixed with snow pitter-patters against the window sill in a stilted rhythm. The distinct smell of stale air, warmth, dog and home tingles in his nose when he opens his eyes. He can only distinguish Even’s silhouette in the darkness. During the night, he has pulled the duvet up to his ears and turned away from Isak. The hair at the back of his head is sticking straight up. It takes some conscious effort not to try and smoothe it down.

But that would wake him up _( – it’s much too early after yesterday – )_ and it’s only five a.m. Isak knows that Even wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.

He sits up. His muscles refuse to cooperate, and every movement feels wooden ( _– like he’s been glued together in the wrong order and his joints have gotten stuck – )_. The watery light of the March sun peeks through the hastily drawn curtains.  

It’s just enough to see Navi’s eyes glisten at the foot of the bed.

Isak leans forward; scratches behind her ears, causing a yawn that reveals the two rows of sharp teeth. When he pulls back, she follows and gets up, standing over his legs.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

After she’s licked his cheek, she makes a graceful jump down from the bed. Tail wagging from side to side, she stares at him with impatient eyes. It’s enough to get him to sever himself from the warmth _(_ _– the safety, the intimacy, the blissful ignorance – )_ under the blanket, take off the sweat-damp clothes he’s slept in and follow her to the closet.

The door creaks when he opens it, and Even shifts in his sleep. He throws an arm over his head with a sigh. Just for a moment, it seems like he’s about to wake up, but then those long, deep breaths sound out into the room, indicating that he’s still asleep.

Normally, Even is the one to take Navi out for her morning walks. Quarter to seven, be it a work day or weekend, rain or blizzard: Even and Navi go for their forty-five-minute walk. On weekends, Isak likes to join them, but during the week it just doesn’t work out.

Not since he graduated and finally started working.

It’s almost absurd, knowing that nothing turned out like he thought it would. Physician: that was the job he’d aspired to since lower secondary school. But after two years of medicine, he’d had enough. Anatomy and biochemistry had been fascinating. The further he got, though, the more obvious it became that the amount of social commitment needed for him to do a good job would get on his nerves _( – take away the commitment that was so much more needed elsewhere – )_.

So the change to pharmacist had been the natural one to make _( – despite the bad conscience and a certain kind of fear of what he was contributing to, with the pharmaceutical industry being how it is right now – )_ for his future prospects, if nothing else.

Navi stays patient as Isak puts on a pair of jeans and a fleece sweater. Then, she follows him at the heels as they walk down the stairs. She doesn’t move as he pulls on his waterproof pants and raincoat and pushes the collar over her head. The energy courses through her body as she obediently sits and waits for him to open the door.

When he reaches for the keys, she nudges at his fingertips with her nose, and he strokes her neck one more time.

“Let’s go.”

The sleet has turned into a light drizzle when they step outside the door. The slush splashes away under Navi’s paws as she ambles through it. The wet, cool air feels soft against his skin. It doesn’t sting the way the dry, minus twenty-degree midwinter cold does, even though it still chills him to the bone. It really clears out his mind _( – opens it up, airs it out, ventilates it – )_ better than anything else.

They follow the road for a little while, until they branch off onto the short hiking path. Mouldering leaves are peeking through the spotty layer of slush. After a quick look over his shoulder, Isak unhooks Navi’s leash. With her nose touching the forest floor, she’s soon engrossed in the new scents that have turned up during the night.

If he were to call for her, she would return to his side right away _( – out of obedience, playfulness or protection – )._ That’s the only reason he dares to let her run off-leash and get that coursing energy out of her system.

The drizzle patters softly against the hood of his raincoat. The hollow space between his ears and the waterproof fabric amplifies the sound and he winds the leash around his hand _( – doesn’t want to think about yesterday, the past night, just a few hours ago – )_. Even if they hadn’t had Navi, he would still have taken refuge out here.

The forest, together with Navi and the silence surrounding them, is his hiding place, where he can come to simply breathe. It has been one for several years now. From before everything in the aftermath of _( – the collapse, the reconstruction, the restoration – )_ Even’s last manic episode. All the things that ultimately forced him to find an outlet for his numbness _( – the inverted anxiety – )_ to prevent it from swallowing him whole. So that it didn’t render him passive and incapacitated in a way _( – which scared him out of his wits – )_ he didn’t recognize. 

It had been close to a full-scale system collapse back then, two years ago. Denying it would be nothing short of detrimental. His probation at the university started to suffer to the degree that he’d decided to apply for a job at the hospital instead. The overtime he’d been collecting the weeks before the collapse had, after all, without a single warning, been followed by a two weeks’ absence. And that had surely made a less than stable impression.

But there had been no other option; Even was his everything. And besides, just breathing had been hard enough _( – his bad black sticky suffocating conscience had constricted everything – )_ for several months afterwards.

Although he gained back his normal weight, started sleeping again, and accompanied Even to his psychologist for half a year _( – in addition to his own sessions – )_ to process the accident, the four missing days preceding it and everything that followed, had almost snuffed out something inside him. The fact that a question _( – so permanent, irreversible, vital – )_ he couldn’t bring himself to answer with a _yes_ , had lead to a meltdown that even they couldn’t escape unscathed.

He wraps the leash a little tighter around his hand so it restricts _( – the negative thoughts, all that self-deprecation that seems so natural, a subjective truth – )_ the blood flow for a moment.

Just enough to draw him back to the present.

Being a contact family had no connection to genetics or blood relations, anyway. It was just about offering someone place to stay _( – a more official basement – )_. It wasn’t easy, more difficult in certain aspects _–_ but yesterday’s events had been on a whole different plain.

Alma’s rage is an essential part of her. Right from the beginning, it had been a given _( – when Even had smiled at her, asked if she wanted to see where she would be sleeping and she had turned around in the doorway and stormed outside in her socks, middle finger in the air – )_ and something they had to learn how to manage, not to get rid of.

The fact that it didn’t just explode, but also imploded with the same shattering force, had been unexpected.

And it’s irrational, but unbelievably difficult to not get angry with her. It’s unfair _( – considering her alcoholic dad, other circumstances, she’s not the one – )_ to blame her, but it’s no joke to ignore your frustrations. Or that feeling of failure. Even has started to get closer to her in the last months, but every attempt Isak makes is stomped into the ground. He is, in a way, familiar with that. Patience and slightly ajar doors should be the answer, but when she verbally lashes out like a wounded animal, _( – as Even looks from the sidelines with apologetic eyes, powerless, like a discovered double agent who has to pick a side  – )_ it isn’t easy to keep his calm.

At the end of the day, she’s still a compromise.

Sometimes, he just wanted to give up. Just quit the whole thing. Admit to himself and to Even that they’d tried it out, but that it wasn’t for them. That she was too much, beyond their expertise. What she needed just highlighted all the parts that were missing, yet intrinsic to who he was _( – parental instinct too weak, too tied in with environment and upbringing – )_.

Some things you can’t learn if you don’t want to.

But after this _( – his conscience would consume him from the inside out – )_ it would be impossible to just give up one her. Not after the things _( – the trail of blood – )_ she left in the bathroom. He doesn’t even want to think about the damage it would cause _( –  what he would have done if Eskild hadn’t been there for him that time – )._

The fir trees, their outlines made visible by the low-hanging clouds, rustle softly in the wind. A squirrel scurries past a bit further down on the path. Navi lets out a short bark, her ears pointed, alert, her tail held high, rigid.

“No, Navi.” Isak snaps his fingers. “Heel.”

Had she been out with Even, she might ’ve followed her instincts and chased after the squirrel. Now, she doesn’t even stay to watch it disappear up the nearest tree. Instead, she immediately comes running towards Isak, tail still held up high.

Navi. With her big, brown eyes. Who doesn’t slow down before she’s right in front of him, plopping herself down next to his feet. Always eager for the next command. It doesn’t matter what he tells her to do, or what they are doing, as long as she gets to be with him _( – unconditionally – )_.

That is one of the main reasons they brought her into their lives.

One evening, they’d driven out to the shelter. They’d just wanted to check the place out. It had been intended as a spontaneous visit, but they had ended up leaving with her. Even though she was a very unfortunate mixed-breed _( – greyhound and husky put into one dog was the equivalent of holding a delayed-action bomb – )_ , he couldn’t leave her. It’d become obvious that they could provide what she needed. They could, of course, have left her there, in the hope that someone else would recognize that she wasn’t a hopeless case. But after she _( – had peered at him with her big eyes and held onto his sleeve with her teeth, just like Lea – )_ had made an impression, it became too difficult to consider that as a way out.

And just the fact that the alternative had once existed, and that the end result was something they chose out of their own volition, made the consequent obligations _( – the morning walks, the vet appointments, all the time-consuming expensive extras – )_ easier to manage.

Made it possible to relieve the stress, lower the blood pressure, and start over.

* * *

 

The old football field is always a good place to let Navi run off the worst of her pent-up energy. When the university hospital comes into view behind the trees, they head down the little path, homebound.

The street is quiet and grey as they walk back to the house. The hallway seems brighter as they step inside, even though the street lights have switched off by now. He is only met by the sound of rattling kitchen pipes _( – no humming, no radio, no voices – )_ and silence. Isak puts his waterproof gear on one of the hooks and quickly dries off Navis wet paws before he walks in.

She disappears upstairs, likely because she wants to cuddle up next to Even again. On a normal weekend morning, Isak would have followed her, but the restlessness is still prickling under his skin, and it’s _( – better than the numbness, more productive, effective – )_ impossible to just fall asleep again.

The coffee maker is already on the counter, so he just rinses it out and fills it up again. It burbles in a homely way, and Isak takes his reading glasses from the windowsill, opens a few tabs on his phone and starts doing research _( – papers, leaflets, organisation web pages – )_. It’s both calming and frightening, but it’s much easier to get on the right side of things when he can rely on the facts _( – a solid, sturdy foundation – )._

When it’s coming up to nine o’clock, there are sounds from upstairs. First it’s a creak on the wooden floorboard, then a step on the staircase _( – someone heavier than Alma – )_.

Isak clears his throat. “In here.”

The footfalls change direction, and then Even appears in the doorway. He’s hollow-eyed and his lips are dried out _( – not ghastly pale and bloodless – )_ , and his smile is a little weak. Even takes two cups out of the cupboard above the sink.

“Should I heat this up again?” Even asks, his voice soft and careful as he puts his fingers against the cooled-down metal of the coffee pot sitting on the counter.

“Maybe? It’s been standing there for a while.”

Even nods and switches on a stove plate. They listen as the coffee heats up again. When there is a weak whistling sound, Even fills up two cups with practised movements. Picks one, and puts the other one down in front of Isak on the table.

Then, he winds his arms around Isak’s shoulders; buries his nose in his hair. Takes a few deep breaths and says: “You already went out with Navi?”

“Yeah. Managed to wake her when I woke up, so went out for an hour. Let her run and get her energy out as well.”

“That explains it. She’s hogging your side of the bed, dead to the world. If you want to have it back, you’ll have to fight for it.” Even’s voice is warm against his scalp. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Isak shrugs _( – Even’s head goes with the upward motion without resistance – )_. The open browser tab, showing SHEDO’s homepage, disappears as the screen switches off. “Just a bit less than usual.”

“Good.” Even doesn’t move _( – is still warm, safe, present – )_ behind him. “I’ll take her out again later.”

“Maybe you can take Alma with you too? If she’s able to walk?”

“I think so. It was mostly the shock that prevented her from walking last night.”

Even goes silent, and absentmindedly fiddles with one of the strings on Isak’s fleece sweater. Rolls the small piece of metal at the end back and forth between his fingers. Without turning to look at him, Isak knows he is staring out the window _( – at the neighbours who still haven’t woken up, the ones Even always stops to talk with – )_ where the rain is slowly forming puddles.

“Don’t know how much it helps, but I’ve read some articles.” For a moment, the words _( – like every other time he has to make things real, tangible – )_ get stuck in his throat before he manages to push them out.

“Is there nothing we can do other than just talking to her? Have you talked to her today?”

“Not yet. It was _–_ I checked up on her before I came downstairs. She’s still asleep.”

“I think that it would be _–_ that it’s better if we wake her up now. So she isn’t just lying up there on her own, and _–_ thinking.”

Even lets out a hoarse laugh, and presses a kiss to his hair. “Good thinking. I’ll do it.”

Two fingers tilt his head back until he’s looking into Even’s eyes. The glasses slip down his forehead, forced by gravity, as Even kisses him on the mouth; it’s soft, familiar, and reassuring. Nudges his tongue tentatively against Isak’s. It doesn’t matter how many kisses they’ve shared at this point, it still makes a pulse of some electrical nature surge through him _( – from his mouth, up to his brain, down to his toes – )_ ,simply because Even lingers a moment longer than usual.

“You can go and sleep for a bit, if you’d like.”

Little white spots swim in front of his vision _( – roaring and hissing inside his ears – )_ even though he has them closed. Isak sighs and snorts at him.

“I just had coffee.”

Even rubs his shoulders. “You can try to, at least,” he says. Then, he puts their cups into the dishwasher and disappears upstairs again.

His soft footsteps sound on the floor, moving towards the old office. Isak listens as Even opens the door and gently whispers Alma’s name.

* * *

 

First, his hearing comes back. Then, his body. After that, his consciousness follows bit by bit.

Everything is spinning, the objects in the room blurred and his mouth feels like damp sandpaper. Taking a nap during the day always seems like a good idea, but it’s a double-edged sword. Either you wake up naturally, well-rested and refreshed, or you get woken up and feel wrung out, like a used dish towel.

Isak stretches, his back giving a satisfying crack when he turns to look over his shoulder.

In the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, eyes downcast, her eyes pointed towards the floor, stands Alma. Her hair, normally a long mane she hides behind, is put up in two tight plaits _( – surely Even’s or her own doing – )_ which make it easier to get a look at her face.

Her cheeks and nose have a red glow to them, but there is no swelling, so nothing points to her having cried.

Isak swallows and slowly sits up. “Have you three gone out for a walk?” he asks, and keeps his voice as neutral as he can manage.

Her head flies up, she finally makes eye contact _( – holds it, uneasy, but determined – )_ and nods.

“Yeah. Even took me outside. He’s busy with Navi now.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “I think.”

“Okay.” It suddenly feels like he needs to have solid ground under his feet. “Did he tell you to wake me up?” he asks, even though he knows that Even wouldn’t ask that of Alma.

“No, he didn’t.”

If she had been someone else, and if it hadn’t been so painfully obvious that there was something she would like to say, her lingering in the doorway would’ve gotten on his nerves. Now, after all that’s happened, it’s easier to be patient.

“So, I just – wanted to say something about the stuff I said yesterday. It just came out like that,” she says, still not averting her eyes.

“You already apologized, Alma. It’s alright.”

“But – it’s not, though. You know that too. It’s never magically okay again just because you’ve said sorry.”

She looks at the floor again, but thanks to the plaits, Isak can see the private, wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

It’s hard around the edges, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

Isak shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn't mean that it’s not alright.”

Alma sighs. “It’s just so fucking awkward afterwards.”

A little tremor runs through her. It looks like she comes to a conclusion; then, she steps into the room. She hesitantly walks over to the bed, and lies down on Even’s side. Pulls up her knees a bit, but grimaces, stops the movement and straightens out her legs again. Instead, she winds her arms tightly around Even’s pillow, as if to push all of her anxiety into it, allowing the last of the pent-up tension to seep out of her body.

She really doesn’t look sixteen years old _( – did he look this small when Eskild found him – )_. Isak lies down again next to her; for a moment, she holds her breath, but doesn’t open her eyes.

“If you say it’s okay,” she mumbles instead, “it has to be.”

“So now you actually believe the things I say?”

The corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Shut up. I’m in the middle of doing some conflict management here,” she says, making air quotes with her fingers. Her eyes are still closed.

Isak’s unable to stop from smiling. “So he asked you to come up here?”

“He _–_ okay, yeah, he suggested it.”

It’s sleeting again. The pitter patter against the windowsill entwines itself with the silence in the room: it’s a pleasant soundtrack to relax into before the intimidating next step in this conversation. Carves out a pause to designate the words he wants to say and catch his breath. Isak turns his gaze away from her face. Looks up at the ceiling instead _( – the straight, familiar grooves he has rested his eyes on too many restless nights – )_.

“His thoughts on things are good. He gets stuff. Can read situations well.”

In the corner of his eye, Alma swallows. “Yeah. I noticed that.”

The words lie on his tongue like a couple of ibuprofen pills: he needs to swallow them or spit them out before they melt and makes him nauseous instead of healing. “If there _–_ is something, go talk to him first. I’m a bit too much of a pragmatist. I might hurt you without meaning to.”

“Okay.” Without opening her eyes, Alma smiles again. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good.”

Suddenly, a faint clicking sound travels over from outside the door. Then, the door hinges squeak, and a black nose can be seen in the slight door opening Alma left.

“Come in, Navi.”

The dog opens the door just enough to squeeze through and goes to sit on the floor next to him. She eagerly looks up at him, and Isak pats the bed. As soon as she gets the green light, Navi jumps up to lie down between him and Alma with a deep sigh.

Isak reaches out with his hand and scratches Navi under her chin. “She’ll fall asleep soon. How long did you walk for?

“Like two hours, I think.”

“Then it really won’t take long.”

Alma offers her hand, and Navi looks at it for a moment. Then, she licks the space between her fingers _( – carefully, like the biggest wounds are the visible ones – )_. Alma’s whole face softens when Navi puts down her head so she can scratch her behind the ears.

“Hey, Navi,” she whispers. “Are you tired too?”

Navi answers with a yawn, and Isak can’t help but let out a laugh at that. Alma smiles.

The silence settles between them again. The sound of breathing, Alma’s fingers softly scratching Navi’s fur, and satisfied animal sighs fill the room. Isak listens to this quiet murmur _( – and Even’s footsteps downstairs, knows that he’s not alone in this house, that he is safe here – )_.

It’s such a pleasant feeling when there are no words or interfering sounds, even if you have another person lying right next to you.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when he looks over at Alma again, she’s fallen asleep. One hand supporting her cheek, the other buried in Navi’s fur _( – safe and peaceful – )_.

Carefully, so he doesn’t wake them up, Isak extracts himself from the bed. Navi looks at him for a bit but resumes her previous position when he tells her to.

Then, he walks out, leaving the door to the bedroom slightly ajar.

The couch in the living room is unoccupied, but he finds Even in the kitchen. The hours outside have been hard on his hair and his cheeks. His hair is sticking out in all directions after having been flattened down by a beanie, and his cheeks are still red. He’s leaning against the counter next to the kitchen sink, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Isak stops to stand on the threshold.

“What’s that?”

Even looks up. His eyes are shiny, but he just swallows. Holds out a thick wad of kitchen roll/to Isak. “She – she gave them to me. Told me to get rid of them.”

Carefully, Isak takes the wrapped objects into his hand. Inside the thick wad of kitchen roll, there are seven or eight razor blades. Single-edged blades, a reinforcement on the other side to screw them into a paint scraper or a box cutter. Three are still in their plastic casing _( – the rest are used – )_.

His unease is dark green, almost black, stinging and growing like streptococci at the back of his throat. Isak manages to swallow it down.

“Where’s the knife?” he presses out _(_ _– with force, the words very much having gotten stuck – )_.

“I don’t know.” Even sighs, and doesn’t hesitate when Isak hands him back the wad of kitchen roll. Wraps the wad carefully _( – respectfully, almost – )_ around the blades until they can no longer be seen.

“It’s going to take a while until she hands that one over.”

“Too scary to hand everything over at once?”

That was what he’d gotten from his research this morning. The safety that could be found in always having _( – a little tool to open vents – )_ something sharp at hand; the knowledge that the possibility and the choice were always there.

Even if you abstained.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Even goes into the pantry and puts the razorblades on the same shelf as the dog treats. He drums his fingers against the pantry door, following the same rhythm as the rain pitter-pattering against the windowsill. Then, he looks at Isak again, open, smiling, as if he’s let everything go _( – for the moment, decided that he can’t do anything more than he already has, and will therefore let it rest – )_ and points to one of the shelves higher up.

“I was thinking I’d try that Indian recipe I found, and we still have some bulgur. What do you say?”

Isak goes over to him. Stands next to him, feels the warmth he exudes like a human heater. Leans slightly against him _( – letting the warmth push away his thoughts for a bit – )_. Then, he nods.

“Sounds great.”

Isak stretches up to take the bulgur packet from the shelf.

Behind him, Even switches on the radio, and the kitchen fills with sounds.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SHEDO](http://www.shedo.org) (Self Harm and Eating Disorders Organisation) is a Swedish initiative that is raising awareness, spreading knowledge and fighting for better treatment for people suffering from self-harm and eating disorders and their loved ones. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading (and take care) ♡

**Author's Note:**

> tw: graphic depictions of medium self-harm injuries and associated thought spirals, slight romanticizing of self-harm as a coping mechanism


End file.
